


Residue

by Duck_Life



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: College, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Squip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life/pseuds/Duck_Life
Summary: The Squip never goes away, not really. But that's okay, because neither does Michael.





	Residue

Michael finally stops hitting snooze on his alarm and hops out of bed, haphazardly pulling on jeans and a T-shirt while trying not to bang his head on the ceiling in the cramped little dorm room he shares with Jeremy. He’s got one strap of his backpack on before he notices Jeremy still lying in bed, despite the fact that he’s got class at nine. 

“Hey,” he says in a loud whisper, trying to remember if Jeremy mentioned anything about his class being cancelled. “Jeremy? Jeremy!” Jeremy doesn’t move, so Michael crosses the room to get a look at him. 

Jeremy lies facing the wall, curled in on himself, but he’s not sleeping. Michael leans over to find his eyes wide open and terrified. “Hey,” he says, slowly putting a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, trying to show he’s there without startling Jeremy. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, but his hollow attempt at levity does nothing. “Okay. Where is he?”

Jeremy finally makes eye contact, and then he looks over his shoulder before settling back down on the bed. “In your beanbag chair,” he mumbles.

“Rude,” Michael says, glancing over at the empty beanbag chair. “That’s  _ my _ chair, dude.” Michael tosses his backpack down and sinks onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Jeremy. “You know that he can’t do anything to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy sighs in a shaky voice that tells Michael he’s been crying. “I mean, it’s nowhere near as bad as before. He can’t electrocute me, or stop me from talking, or control my body.” A shudder wracks through him. “But he can still talk.”

Michael rubs what he hopes are soothing circles into his shoulders and arms. “What’s that asshole telling you right now?” 

Jeremy bites his lip, staring at the wall ahead of him. “That I’m ruining your life,” he says flatly. “That I’m a waste of space and… air. And I ruin everything.”

“False,” Michael says confidently, planting a little kiss on Jeremy’s jawline. “You don’t ruin my life, Jere, you make it better.” Jeremy tenses up suddenly. “He just said something just now, didn’t he?”

Jeremy nods, looking reluctant to share, but Michael’s comforting presence is persistent enough. “He… he says he’s the only one who can make  _ my _ life better.”

“Also false,” Michael promises. “Only one person can make your life better, Jeremy, and it’s not that fucking tic-tac. You know who it is?”

“You?”

Michael laughs a little; he wasn’t expecting that. “No,  _ you _ , buddy,” he says, squeezing Jeremy close. “You’re in control. You get to decide what happens in your life.” 

Jeremy nods slowly, but he doesn’t look convinced. “You should get to class,” he tells Michael.

“I have somewhere more important to be.” When Michael exhales, the little curls at the back of Jeremy’s neck flutter and fall back in place. Turns out Jeremy forewent a pajama shirt that night, so Michael has a full view of the pinkish-whitish-reddish scars that start at the base of his skull and trace down his spine. “They look like tree roots,” he notes, tracing one with his finger. 

“They’re torture scars.” 

“Well, they look like tree roots.” Michael watches as Jeremy flinches in response to something he can’t see or hear. “I can get you some more Mountain Dew Red,” he says. “Finish him once and for all, get rid of the… the vestiges, or whatever.”

Jeremy shakes his head, looking defeated and small. “No, that… that won’t work. I talked to Rich about it. This stuff, this shit in my head… it’s like afterimages. From the chemicals that got permanently introduced to my brain.” He whines softly and squeezes his eyes shut, but Michael knows he can still hear whatever the “afterimage” is saying. “It won’t ever go away.”

“Shh,” he whispers, twining his fingers with Jeremy’s. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. He’s not real.” 

“It won’t ever go away,” Jeremy repeats. “God, I was so  _ stupid _ . I messed everything up. Michael, he’s right. I’m awful. I’m terrible.”

“Shh,” Michael says. “You’re wonderful. You’re fantastic.” Jeremy twitches. “What, what is it?”

“He says you’re lying.”

Michael feels anger boil in the pit of his stomach. Sci-fi robot pills, he could deal with. It’s the stuff that comes after that kills him. The nightmares, the scars, the way Jeremy responds a little too swiftly anytime he hears a direct command. 

Leaning away from Jeremy to face his empty beanbag chair, Michael addresses Jeremy’s asshole imaginary friend. “I am  _ not _ lying,” he says clearly enough for Jeremy to hear him. “He  _ is _ wonderful, and amazing and kind and smart and good. Leave him alone.” He rolls back over to wrap his arms around Jeremy again. 

“He says you hate me,” Jeremy says quietly, refusing to look at Michael. “He says everyone hates me.” 

If the Squip had a physical form, Michael would punch it, preferably somewhere below the belt. “I love you,” he says, warm and honest. “Your dad loves you. Christine, Brooke, Rich, Jake, Chloe, Jenna… they all love you.” 

“Do you think they see him too?” Jeremy asks, suddenly looking more alert. “I mean, not…  _ him _ . But you know. Their hims. Hillary Clinton, and Taylor Swift, and Kermit the Frog. They’re probably all going through the shit I’m going through… and it’s my fault.” 

And Michael can’t say for sure that’s not right. “None of them ever got electrocuted, except for Rich, and that was before you even came into the picture,” he points out. “And… and you had yours longer than anyone except for him. And  _ he’s _ doing great, Jere. Everything’s okay.”

“I’m a horrible person.”

“You’re a wonderful person.”

“I shouldn’t be alive.”

Michael’s heart jolts at that. “I love you,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I don’t get tired of saying it. I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, okay? I love you, and I’m glad you’re in my life, and I think you’re amazing.” 

Jeremy flinches again and then he rolls over to face Michael, and he’s full-on crying now. He wedges himself into the space between Michael’s chin and chest and wraps around him like an octopus, wringing out tears into his t-shirt. “I’m s-s-sorry,” he cries as Michael loops an arm around his back and rubs circles into the spot between his shoulder blades. “I fucked everything up and now it’s never going to be okay and you deserve so much and I was such an asshole and he’s never ever going to go away and I ruined my whole life and yours too and everyone at school… and it’s all my fault.” 

Michael just keeps holding him. “You did fuck everything up,” Michael says gently, “and I forgive you. And even if you did something stupid again, I would forgive you again. I love you.” Jeremy shudders against his chest but finally, finally seems to have calmed down a little. “And maybe you’re right, maybe that thing’s never ever going to go away,” Michael says. “But neither am I. So I hope that asshole enjoys third-wheeling for the rest of his miserable battery life.” 

Jeremy lets out a breathy laugh and curls in closer to him. “Thanks, Michael,” he says quietly. “... I love you, too.” 


End file.
